Alive and Dead
by twigsza
Summary: In the end, it wasn't passionate. It wasn't wild, it wasn't fun. In the end it was pain and misery. In the end, we lost more than we gained. In the end, there wasn't anyone left to remember our heroics anyway. HIATUS DUE TO WORK
1. Chapter 1

Most of us have discussed the end of the world at some point in time. Be it the rapture or the sun burning us all to a crisp. The sad thing is, we discuss it, some plan for it, but we are _never_ prepared for it. Usually its a far off thought, something that could happen, but not within our lifetime. We're much to arrogant to think that our time would be cut short by famine or nuclear bombs.

A lot of us even think about it with relish, imagining ourselves as post-apocalyptic heroes. Fucking someone in an abandoned house after escaping cannibals or rival groups. Our imagination equips us with the skills to kick the ass of all threats that come our way in our made up world. In our heads, we are winners. Heros. Martyrs.

In some ways, I'm sure a few of us got to live out those fantasies. Not nearly as many as we would have liked. Most of us died in embarrassing and shameful ways, tears sliding down our temples into our hair as we choked on blood and bile. Fists grabbing dead flesh as we attempted to crawl our way free, abandoned by loved ones and friends. Most of us took shots to the head, our eyes settled blankly on the one who granted us mercy.

In the end, it wasn't passionate.

It wasn't wild, it wasn't fun.

In the end it was pain and misery.

In the end, we lost more than we gained.

In the end, there wasn't anyone left to remember our heroics anyway.

**00000000000000000000**

It happened on a Monday. In a way, I lucked out. After all, on Mondays the shops within the shopping district were all closed, save for the one I worked at. Us and the coffee shop across the street. Mondays found the streets abandoned save for the few tourists who hadn't been alerted to the fact that they would have few places to go once they arrived. Occasionally you would see a few of the other shops setting up displays, the signs on their doors still insisting they were CLOSED.

I lucked out.

Mondays were normally spent behind the cash-wrap, scrolling through numerous social media sites and gorging myself on more snacks than my stomach could contain. Mondays meant getting paid to sit on my ass, something I was very content to do. My workweek was always a hectic one, as my manager left me to do most of her work. If I had known accepting an assistant manager position under that woman meant I would do both of our work for my pay, I don't think I would have accepted it. Still, it would look good on my resume when I left. At least I had that to look forward to.

I hadn't noticed any odd behavior in the few people who strolled around the district that day. Most people had the same disgruntled expression on their face as they walked by, the realization that there was nothing here for them settling in. It was my incessant social media networking that most likely saved my life.

For a few days, we had heard that there was a breakout of some deadly virus. It was all over the news, but authorities insisted that all individuals had been quarantined and that the illness was of no immediate threat to the population. Being Americans, we either found it a conspiracy or continued on with our lives, content. That was our way.

My neighbor John, was the one who caught my attention. His post was frantic, obvious by the way he had typed it in all caps.

'LOCK YOURSELVES IN YOUR HOMES! THE HOSPITAL IS UNDER SIEGE. THE VIRUS IS SPREADING!"

Normally, John was a person you ignored. His posts were usually derived from satire websites and word of mouth. He was the person on your feed who couldn't spot photoshop and posted about conspiracies on the hour. You probably know the type. But today his post was linked to our local news site, and sure enough a live-feed popped up.

It was as though a war had erupted within the large building. More cop cars than I could count surrounded the emergency entrance, a large tank positioned in the middle of them. Men in uniform spread across the asphalt, guns pointed at the entrance. A small figure seemed to be shouting orders at them.

The bottom of the screen was the most alarming.

"INFECTED VICTIMS TURN CANNIBAL."

The title was followed by a warning to stay in your homes, blockade your windows, and turn off the lights. I hadn't finished reading the instructions before movement in the corner of the screen caught my eye. What seemed to be hundreds of staggering people had burst through the doors of the hospital, arms outstretched toward the men with guns. Shots were fired, but the bodies pressed forward.

It was something I had read about many times over in my life. I had always been one to scare myself with books and movies, cowering under my blankets after as I imagined gnarled hands reaching for me from the dark shadows under my bed. Even at the age of 22, I still made sure to jump onto my bed at night.

These weren't cannibals.

They were zombies.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing I absolutely could not lie about, was that I had spent many Monday mornings imagining what I would do if there was some sort of zombie attack while I was at work. Call me a fool, but it happened to be one of my favorite past-times. Unfortunately for me, my imagination had mostly conceived slow, dimwitted creatures in small groups. I had pictured them rising from graves, easily containable, but I could kick some ass until the cops stepped in. Call me a fool.

The district was quieter than it had been before, save for a small rush of people streaming out of the coffee shop and into their cars. Mothers were hastily buckling toddlers into car seats while those who had come alone sped off. A few had only bikes, and made what I would later assume to be the deadly mistake of attempting to bike home. In five hours time we would find that nowhere was safe.

As I didn't have my own car to drive home, the decision to stay at the store was an easy one. However, the front of the store was likely not the safest place to loiter, as two large widows made for a great display of the buildings contents and the door not much better. The only saving grace were the shades over the doors and windows, in place for us to pull down during large events held on the block.

A ladder was required to pull down the shades over the windows, something I found myself doing anxiously as I imagined a zombie slamming through the glass as I was sitting atop the ladder, trapped. Still, I made quick work of the larger shades, climbing down and mentally smacking myself upon realizing I should have_ locked the goddamn door _first.

Through the glass I spotted the round figure of the guy who sang outside our shop on the weekends, wringing his hands as he nervously looked up and down the street. While this was most likely NOT the time for heroics (no matter how small), I couldn't imagine how guilty I would find myself if I opened the shades back up to find some dead thing chewing on the guy.

Quietly, I opened the door and whistled at him. Obviously expecting something else, his head jerked back in surprise, only to shoot me a relieved smile as he crossed the few yards between us and ducked into the store. Immediately locking the door and pulling the blinds down, I couldn't help but wonder if we were overreacting. There was a huge police force outside the hospital, and we were at least six or seven miles away.

Until I remembered that guns didn't work on those things.

"Thanks for letting me in." His voice was deep and steady, no reflection of the anxiety I knew he felt.

It was then that I realized we had never spoken, despite seeing each other through the store windows every Friday and Saturday for nearly two years. How often had I seen his blue vest and red flannel combo as he settled in for a night of serenading couples? How often had I not once thought of saying hello?

"Welcome. Do you think we should barricade the doors?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, "I didn't catch much besides a video of a man eating another person. I'm just glad I didn't have to walk home."

We had two options. Either we potentially overreacted and barricaded the doors and windows, or we potentially found ourselves a snack for whatever the hell it was escaping the hospital. The choice was easy to make once thought of like that. Not that we had much to barricade the doors with in the store. Boutiques were apparently not the place to be when a zombie apocalypse happened.

Two long rolling racks sat against the left wall, one against the right. Between them stood two four way racks, not as easy to move since they lacked wheels. None of them were good options. They were all we had.

Behind us, my phone rang, making the situation feel far more normal than it really was. In my haste to find safety, I hadn't even thought of my boyfriend, across town working as a manager for the local farmers market. The end of the world quickly brings out your most selfish and undesirable traits, apparently.

But it wasn't my boyfriend. Instead a photo of one of the baristas across the street smiled up at me.

"Hey Laura, are you okay?"

Her voice was small and tight, "_Si_. But are you? I saw Wilmer go into your store. How is he?"

If, in the past, I had ever needed to know anything about anyone for whatever reason- Laura was the person to ask. She knew everyone, solely because she cared about everyone. You would likely find her late to work, simply because she would find herself caught up chatting with one of the seniors who frequented the cafe.

"He's great. We're fine. What exactly are we supposed to do now?"

I listened apprehensively as she explained to me that the hospital had been overrun. Military was mentioned before the live-stream had died out, but no one knew if they had made it. The things, whatever they were, were eating people. From what they had gathered, their bites were infectious and would kill you. Do not get bitten.

"I don't plan on being bitten. I don't plan on leaving this store."

She laughed at me then, "Do you have food? Water? No. You come here. We are looking from upstairs, there isn't anything or anyone outside. Go through the alleyway and cross the street. We will meet you at the side door."

A click told me she had hung up, obviously anticipating a 'hell no'.

"Laura wants us to sneak through the alleyway to the coffee shop."

There are a few things in life that bond you to a person. One of them happens to be the moment when you actively decide to start trying to survive, not necessarily live. We didn't know it then, but that moment when we first had to leave the safety of my small boutique, would be the moment we carved ourselves into each other's brains and hearts. Fear and distance wouldn't tear us apart, though a pair of decaying hands eventually would.

Surprisingly, the short trek through the alleyway and across the street met with no foul play. Most likely, the army or the police or _who-the-fuck-ever_ was fighting those things were still doing a decent-ish job of keeping them at bay at that point. The entire district seemed to be deserted, though a few streets down multiple cars were hurrying down the street in the direction of the highway.

Laura met us at the door, "About damn time! Get in, hurry!"

I motioned for Wilmer to head in first, as he seemed the most agitated about the events. He didn't need to be told twice, and barreled past Laura's tiny frame. She smiled patiently at him before turning to me, all patience lost as small hands ushered me forward.

Now, there aren't any words in the english language to accurately describe the emotions that run through your brain when ice cold hands clamp down on your shoulders during a zombie apocalypse. Terror might be the closest, but its more akin to what animals must feel upon meeting with something they view as otherworldly. Your heart cannot pump quick enough, your lungs do not fill enough, and your brain just cannot process enough.

Terror is close.


End file.
